39 Friendly Exchange (Combined Chapter)

Karyl watched calmly as the iron bird took off.

It didn't rely on the flapping of its wings for propulsion; the vibration of its four steel wings was simply due to its programming. Rogal Dorn stood beside him, watching it fly away in silence.

The cold wind howled, and the clear cries of merchants could be heard from below the city walls. Devout believers who had traveled from afar knelt in worship, each usually carrying a book at their waist.

That was the work of Lorgar Aurelian, who ironically enjoyed the privilege of proselytizing in Imperium where religion was strictly forbidden.

Once this religion that worshipped the Emperor emerged, it quickly reacted with the pre-existing trend of deifying the Emperor within the Imperium. The resulting sects were incredibly complex, yet these believers managed to get along relatively harmoniously with each other.

Dorn wasn't sure where this would ultimately lead, but for him, if it meant the Emperor's tacit approval, then so be it.

Faith empowers the majority.

The Primarch of the Imperial Fists pondered, tilting his head back and watching the Falcon disappear into the mountains before turning his gaze away.

He looked at Karyl Lohars, whose expression at that moment stirred a rare and intense impulse in him— Dorn didn't hold back and asked directly.

"You seem a little sad," he asked, without questioning.

"Is it that obvious?" Karyl replied, slightly surprised. "I thought I had concealed it well enough."

Dorn nodded and said nothing more, as if that one sentence was enough.

He didn't ask why, didn't investigate further, and didn't even bother to say a word more. He simply kept his head down and began fiddling with the instrument in his hands. A few minutes later, he put it down. A young man wearing bright yellow armor walked over.

He was wearing an MK3 suit, but no helmet. There was a very cautious look on his face, and Dorn knew it wasn't just because he was about to speak with his Primarch.

"Sir," the young man greeted him, his voice extremely serious, almost like a battle report. "A group of barbarians are causing trouble in the second labor quarters."

"Where did it come from?" Dorn asked succinctly.

"They're from Dorhold," the young man said. "They're demanding more food and money from us, or they'll strike."

Were they shortchanged from their wages?

"As far as I know, no." The young man frowned. "They did a good job before, and we rewarded them according to regulations."

"Greed." Dorn shook his head. "Let's give him a warning. If he causes trouble again, we'll rely on the law to punish him."

"Yes, sir." The young man bowed his head, performed the Aquila Salute, and left.

Dorn watched him walk away and slowly nodded.

"Sigismund," he uttered a name, his tone changing slightly.

"A new recruit, but very talented, with outstanding performance. Even though I assigned him to be the security supervisor instead of a company commander or sergeant, he didn't complain. If everything goes smoothly, he should be able to participate in the sweep of the Segmentum Pacificus with the main force in about four months."

Why did you specifically bring this up with me?

"He's been watching you out of the corner of his eye, Karyl. Don't tell me you didn't notice."

"Is he curious about me?"

Dorn turned his head and scanned Karyl up and down. Such a look would be quite offensive on others, but not to him.

Rogal Dorn's upright character and uncompromising nature made him more "tolerable." Karyl stood still, even raising his hand to accept the review.

"Your height," Dorn explained after examining you.

"That's the first thing he's curious about about you: you're too tall, Karyl. I think perhaps only Vulkan can rival your height, but you don't look particularly strong."

"Most commoners who have never seen Astartes develop a condition called superhuman phobia upon witnessing them. They become afraid of Astartes and believe they are not human. While this is largely flawed, it is still understandable. It is impossible for a commoner to comprehend the existence of Astartes."

Dorn paused for a moment, his tone becoming somewhat less resolute. He seemed a little uncomfortable with what he was about to say, but he still forced himself to finish.

"The Astartes are far superior to them," the Primarch said with a hint of pain, before quickly returning to normal.

"I don't like this way of putting it, but that's the truth. And for the Astartes, your existence triggers their superhuman phobia. You're too tall, not strong, yet dangerous. And it's obvious that you're not the Primarch."

"You can tell at a glance?"

"Yes, it's obvious at a glance." Dorn sighed. "Anyone—even an illiterate savage—would sense something upon seeing a Primarch. It's as if someone has programmed them to feel worship, disgust, and love all at once."

"Then, the second point is that you come from the Midnight Blade, and you are their instructor. Sigismund was born during the Unification Wars and later became an orphan. A recruiter from the Eighth Legion once found him, but he was a better match for my Gene-seed during the testing, so he came to the Imperial Fists. I'm afraid that's the second reason why he's curious about you."

"Is there a third point?" Karyl asked with a slight smile.

"Yes." Dorn nodded seriously. "You're standing with me."

Karyl finally couldn't help but smile, "Someone actually said you have no sense of humor, Rogal."

"I didn't." Dorn turned his head, maintaining his expressionless face. "I was just trying to make you less sad."

"You've succeeded," Karyl replied softly. "Do you have plans this afternoon, Rogal?"

"No, my work is basically finished. I've submitted the blueprints for Terra's defenses. If Father needs anything else, he should send the Adeptus Custodes to me."

"Then, how about doing us a favor?"

--

A dense crowd surrounded a huge training cage, its edges supported by four specially reinforced steel pillars, while barbed wire formed the walls.

The banners of Imperial Fists and Midnight Blade fluttered slowly above the training cage. It goes without saying what this arena was for.

Two warriors stood in the training cage. The one on the left was muscular, with a very obvious burn mark on his chest, the mark of the Imperial Fists, and he held a blunt training sword in his hand.

The man on the right was very pale and thinner. His muscles looked more defined, his arms hung naturally, and two short swords were held close to his wrists.

"Give him a lesson, Shen," Sevatar whispered from below the stage. "You were the first one up there. If you lose, you're dead, understand?"

Shen looked over without saying a word, his gaze lingering for a long time. Sevatar frowned, a flash of annoyance crossing his face. Just as it was about to well up, Shen nodded.

"I'll give it a try," he said.

The battle began immediately after half a minute. Neither of the warriors was wearing armor, which added an extra layer of intensity to the fight.

Shen's opponent was named Alcturo, also a new recruit who had recently joined the army. He fought fiercely, completely different from the rigid style of the Imperial Fists that Sevatar had imagined. Every move he made was driven by the desire to win, and his training blunt sword danced in the air like a venomous snake.

Compared to him, Shen's fight was more difficult, but he still didn't lose his own style.

Calm, composed, and unwavering in his steps despite the relentless onslaught from his opponent, Sevatar still couldn't figure out how Shen could win.

The key to combat lies in controlling distance. Swords have an inherent advantage over short swords in terms of distance, and this advantage cannot be easily eliminated.

Alcturo could easily use his superior attack range to drive Shen into his comfortable distance, but Shen couldn't rashly move forward and unleash the short sword's most terrifying power. He had to be constantly careful to avoid being struck in a vital spot by that blunt sword.

Sevatar cautiously turned his head and glanced at the right side of the crowd. There stood three people side by side: Rogal Dorn, Konrad Curze Curze, and Karyl Lohars.

The Primarch of the Imperial Fists is as serious as rumored. But so are the Lords of the Night Lords.

In fact, Sevatar couldn't think of a moment when Konrad Curze Curze looked more serious than he did today—not even when he reprimanded Sevatar and Shen that day.

Karyl Lohars, on the other hand, leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, watching the battle with his usual composure.

Sevatar felt slightly relieved. He withdrew his gaze and continued watching the battle. Shen's fate was not beyond his expectations—he had indeed been cornered by Alcturo.

"That's not fair!" Sevatar grinned indignantly, letting out a cold laugh.

A new recruit? What kind of new recruit wields a sword with such skill, as if he's killed hundreds of people? He must have experienced more than one real combat mission!

Damn it, Shen, use your footwork to confuse him! Get close to him, use your best analytical skills to take down this bastard, and let him taste the Nostramo's greeting!

Leaving aside Sevatar's slander against the Imperial Fists for the moment, let's turn our attention back to Shen.

He was now trapped in the midst of battle, with nowhere left to retreat. His back was pressed against the spikes of the iron mesh, the stinging pain a stark reminder that he should move forward.

His opponent was the same; Alcturo stood upright, sword in hand, his eyes conveying an invitation, a sense of readiness—he seemed to hope that Shen would take the initiative and launch an attack, thus bringing the battle to a perfect close.

You want me to be a decent stepping stone?

Shen smiled.

He sheathed his twin swords, holding them tightly against his wrists for the second time during the fight, in an unusual grip. His thumb, ring finger, and little finger gripped the hilts, while his index and middle fingers rested on the blades.

Alcturo frowned, not understanding his opponent's intentions or why he would willingly use such a suicidal method to put away his weapon—but he was no longer prepared to wait.

The Imperial Fists twisted his wrist and stepped forward. His waist bulged, muscles bulged, and he swung his sword like a hammer. Sevatar narrowed his eyes, already contemplating how he would utterly humiliate this guy when he went up there.

However, he did not see the miserable defeat he had imagined.

Sevatar's eyes widened suddenly.

Facing the blade, Shen did not retreat. He faced the blade head-on, lowered his body, and charged forward. Alcturo's unstoppable sword momentum did not stop because of the enemy's sudden charge; it continued to slash along the predetermined trajectory.

But Shen was no longer in the same place. Alcturo let out a short and urgent shout, seemingly in confusion.

He couldn't understand why his mediocre opponent could suddenly unleash such speed, but Sevatar and the others in the audience saw it clearly—Shen didn't dodge Alcturo's blade with speed, but with his footwork.

A gait that resembles gliding.

Sevatar didn't watch any further; he already knew who would win. He turned to look at their instructor and caught a glimpse of Karyl's smile.

On the stage, Alcturo collapsed as if struck by lightning. The Night Lords erupted in a thunderous roar of jubilation, with Sevatar being the loudest among them.

Just moments ago, after dodging the blade, Shen immediately stabbed his opponent in several vital points with his short sword. Although the short sword was not sharpened, the impact was still considerable. Terrible bruises had already begun to appear on Alcturo's body.

Shen silently tucked the short sword back into his belt and picked up the training dagger. It seemed he intended to return it to Alcturo, or into Alcturo's outstretched palm.

However, at that moment, a voice rang out from the audience to stop it.

"You don't need to do that, Midnight Blade Shen," someone in the crowd said. "I'm going to use it again."

Shen looked down at the audience and saw a young man walking towards them, taking off his clothes as he went.

He had short, messy, dark blond hair that looked like it had been blown by the wind for hours. He was also handsome, with sapphire blue eyes that held no trace of hesitation.

Shen frowned.

His straightened back involuntarily bent again, and he had once again assumed a fighting stance. The murmurs that had erupted in the crowd fell silent for a moment because of the young man's words; it was Sevatar who broke the silence.

"Who are you?" he yelled rudely. "The rules don't say this is a gauntlet tournament, and besides, this is a recruit exchange session. You look a bit too old, don't you?"

"Does appearance matter to us?" the young man, who looked far more like a person than Sevatar, asked rhetorically. At that moment, he had already climbed onto the training cage. Alcturo was dragged out by him and handed over to the other Imperial Fists below the stage.

"I am indeed a new recruit of the Imperial Fists, with no combat experience. My name is Sigismund. Now, I want to fight you, Shen of the Midnight Blade."

He reached out to Shen, asking for the sword that had once belonged to Alcturo: "Are you willing?"

Shen Chao nodded to him, handed him the sword, and immediately turned to him before Sevatar could speak, saying something to him.

"The rules don't say that gauntlet tactics are prohibited, Sevatar."

"You—" Sevatar took a deep breath. "--Fine, then go ahead and hit me. For Eternal Night's sake, I'll pray for you."

Silently turning his head back, Sigismund nodded politely to him, holding the blunt sword in his right hand with the tip touching the ground, his posture relaxed.

"Shen?" he said. "Just Shen?"

"Yes."

"You have a rare name, short but easy to remember. How did you just defeat Alcturo? Simple footwork can't achieve that gliding effect."

"That's a secret, I can't tell you."

Shen drew a short knife from his waist and raised his fists as if he were about to engage in a boxing match. The spine of the blade was pressed tightly against his wrist, and he stared at Sigismund's wrist and shoulder with an almost sharp gaze.

Are you here to fight me, or to ask me a question?

"I think so," Sigismund replied.

The battle began instantly the next second.

The blunt sword and the short knife clashed, their sounds echoing the beating of a heart like the drumbeats in a melody. Shen's face contorted into a ferocious mask; he rarely displayed such emotional turmoil. The short knife flashed, impenetrable, and he truly began his attack.

His posture was extremely arrogant, a stark contrast to his repeated concessions when facing Alcturo. The two swords whistled and cut through the air like a whirlwind, their bloodlust undeniable even though they were unsharpened.

Sigismund remained remarkably calm. He barely swung his arms wildly; all his defenses and attacks were delivered through the deft movements of his shoulders and wrists.

The blades clashed and the short swords clashed continuously. As the fighters dodged and weaved, the murmurs from the audience gradually subsided, and people began to watch the battle intently. At the other end of the stage, Xianni and Richter Nair, who were standing together, shook their heads in unison.

"Shen is going to lose," Xianni said with a hint of regret. "I originally thought his growth rate and talent were already amazing enough, but I never expected that someone could surpass him."

Richter Nair remained silent, his gaze fixed coldly on the man wielding the sword on the stage, a rare longing flickering in his eyes.

This desire was different from the excitement he felt when facing Karyl; it was more like the frenzy of a viper trying to hunt—his gaze was so sharp it seemed he wanted to skin Sigismund alive.

Xianni naturally felt the gaze. He sighed and said, "You don't have to be like this, Richter. This is a gathering for new recruits to exchange ideas."

"He won't be a recruit for long," Richter Nair replied to Xianni in a soft voice, as he began to walk forward.

"Where are you going? You don't intend to interrupt the fight, Richter Nair, are you crazy?"

"No," Richter said without turning his head. "I'm just going to remind Sevatarion of a few things. Apart from him, I doubt anyone else in our two teams of recruits can handle this guy named Sigismund."

One more chapter.